Chapter 23
Taylor slammed the door of her office, and drew the shades. It was classic Do Not Disturb behavior, and she didn't give a damn. This shift couldn't end fast enough to suit her. A pileup on I 294 resulted in eight being flown, seven critical, and the eight year old DOA. An hour later, they were called out to another great huge mess on I 90. The wrong way driver smashed head on into a tractor trailer. She parked her butt in her chair, and covered her face with her hands. She never remembered a shift where 5 people had died and there was a possibility of more. The elderly couple had made her feel bad, but they had been married for forever, had children, grandchildren, a dog, and had, well, a life. The eight year old was killing her. She never had a chance. She'd never grow up, get married, raise a child or two, or go to the prom. It was just too much, especially before noon.
Two hours later, there was a knock on her office door. She ignored it, hoping whomever it was would just give up and go away. The heard the doorknob turning. That could only be one person.
"Come on, Taylor, open the fucking door!" Pagano yelled.
She sighed. "Of all the people in all the world, why did you have to walk into mine?" she muttered. Ordinarily, she didn't mind Pagano, but she minded how he always wanted to dive into her personal life. Why her life was his mission was a total mystery to her. "Get lost, Pagano," she yelled back. "Don't bug me unless we get a call."
Of course, Pagano took that as a sign to antagonize her more. "Would you please just open up the door? I need to talk to you."
"I said, go away."
Pagano slumped against the door frame. He needed to distress, and he knew Taylor did as well. As expected, she had retreated to her office and locked the door. God only knew what she did in there, but whatever it was, it seemed like he wasn't getting an invitation to the party.
He blew out a sigh. He never could understand why she had outwardly rejected all attempts at friendship. She had made it clear from the beginning that they were coworkers and nothing more. In the beginning he had hoped that eventually she would come around and they could date, but it never happened. Then she showed up after Thanksgiving wearing a vintage brilliant cut on her left hand. The worst part of all was she wouldn't give him any information about her fiancé. She hadn't even told him her future husband's name.
"Come on, Taylor, open the door," he pleaded one last time. He knew by now her anger would be at the boiling point, and she'd be flying across the office, practically tearing the door from its hinges, just ready to give him a piece of her mind.
His phone buzzed, indicating a text message. He pulled the phone out of his flight suit pocket and punched the text message app screen. He read it, and slammed his fist against the door frame.
Just leave me the fuck alone.
He walked back to his office in defeat. Taylor very rarely dropped the f bomb. When she did, she was either good and pissed or ready to rip someone's throat out. As he walked, he typed
As you wish, but you're going to need to talk about this sooner or later.